“Ah, well, I suppose our young master is used to seeing beautiful people! Duke Basilio is a handsome man himself, and his Aunt Irene was such a legendary beauty, she was married off to the royal family.” Marco’s tone was apologetic, and he glanced furtively at Connie. Huh? “Coming from a family like that, it’s no wonder you have a complex about looking like a little bully. Right, young master?” “I don’t have a c-complex…!” “Don’t you? Who was it, then, who used to cry and ask me why your face didn’t glow like your father’s? And who was it, upon meeting Prince Ulysses for the first time, who broke down in tears over the fact that he had the same hair and eye color yet for some reason glowed like a little woodland sprite?” Ulysses looked up, startled by the sudden mention of his name. With each blink of his eyes, his golden lashes cast languid shadows on his cheeks. His features were as fine as a glass sculpture, and if someone had told Connie he was a sprite that had wandered unintentionally into the earthly realm, she probably would have believed them. It was also true that Antonio had similar coloring to the prince: soft golden hair and blue eyes. They were similar in height, too. Strictly speaking, Ulysses’s eyes were violet, but from a distance, they looked almost the same color as Antonio’s. Connie could understand why he might cry at the unfairness of it. “You idiot, wh-why are you bringing that up now?!” Antonio snapped. “Why now? Because you were just crying about how you want to be better friends with Prince Ulysses. This is a perfect opportunity, so how about dropping the tough guy act? Don’t worry, young master, you’re a tad contrary, but beneath it all, you’re a good boy.” “I told you, I didn’t cry…!” Antonio’s voice gradually grew softer, until finally he wrapped his arms around his knees and curled into a ball. Ulysses squatted worriedly by his side, whispering something to him as the boat slowly drifted away from the pier. When Connie looked up at Marco, the young man winked and smiled at her. Interesting. The canals near the port were narrower than she had expected, barely wide enough for a single boat. Brick warehouses lined either side, their charming red hue highlighted by the blue sky. She was gazing absently at this peaceful scene when it occurred to her to pull an old book from her luggage. The time-worn binding must have sparked Lucia’s curiosity, because she sidled up to Connie and asked what she was reading. “I’m glad you asked!” Connie giggled. “This book has been treasured by many generations of Grails!” In fact, it had been the personal possession of Percival Grail, the first Viscount Grail. The book in her hands was a copy, of course, but in a family whose motto was simplicity and thrift, even this copy had been in use since her great-grandfather’s time. By now, the leather cover was faded and worn through in places. “It’s a travelogue about El Sol. Isn’t that an amazing coincidence?” Titled A Lost Man’s Compass, the book described in detail not only the island’s tourist destinations, but its climate, culture, and customs as well. Since descriptions of foreign kingdoms were rare in Percival’s day, the book had apparently been used by generations of Grails to learn about the lands beyond Adelbide. These days, of course, it was more a historical document than a practical one. When the trip to El Sol was decided, Connie remembered the book and dug it up from her father’s study. “Look, here’s a map of El Sol, with the names of popular tourist destinations back then! I thought it would be fun to do a comparison,” she said, opening to the first page. Lucia looked on with sparkling eyes. As she inspected the map with boundless curiosity, she suddenly tilted her head in confusion. “Miss Connie, in this book the island is called the Republic of Soldita.” “That’s because when this book was written, El Sol was all there was to Soldita.” Soldita had started out as a small island kingdom. The tourism industry wasn’t very big back then, and it was said to have escaped invasion by Faris because it was naturally protected by the ocean and because there wouldn’t have been any benefit in possessing it. “That’s mighty suspicious,” Scarlett announced, looking over Connie’s shoulder. “What’s suspicious?” Connie asked. “That book. Was it really written in Percival Grail’s day? Back then, Soldita was a country backwater, not the sort of place anyone would go for a vacation. Adelbide itself was newly independent and probably still politically unstable. Who would have wanted to buy a travelogue about an unknown island? Plus…” She pointed to the spine, where the author’s name was written. “I’ve never heard of an author called Sena Rilifarco.” “Oh, I heard he wasn’t an author, but a merchant,” said Connie. “He wrote this for fun, so it probably wasn’t very widely read.” The beginning of the book explained that Rilifarco was a merchant from Adelbide who happened to visit the island on a buying trip. It caught his fancy, and he ended up staying for a long time. Scarlett threw Connie a sly glance. “Have you ever met a merchant who’s not out for profit? And why would your ancestors own a book like that? I’m growing more suspicious by the second.” “Uh…” Connie’s confidence evaporated. Why, indeed? Her father had told her the book was very important to Percival Grail, but no doubt he only believed that because his father had told him the same thing. And her grandfather—like all members of the Grail family, herself included—was a simple person. “Ha-ha! Just kidding… Connie? Are you listening?” Scarlett said. But Connie was too lost in thought to hear her. As she crossed her arms and fretted over this new question, Marco called out from behind. “We’re about to enter the main canal!” When Connie looked up, she couldn’t help gasping. “Wow!” As the narrow side canal merged with the main waterway, an exotic cityscape unfurled before her eyes. Buildings painted in fairyland colors stood at even intervals while, below them, street performers played rhythmic melodies. Connie peered around curiously, listening to the hustle and bustle of the crowd. This must be the high street. It was lined with touristy souvenir shops, elegant eateries, and jewelry stores. “…Huh?” Weird masks were hanging from most of the shop signs and eaves. Crescents were carved out for the eyes, and they were painted so the left half was black and the right half was white. “W-what are those?” Connie asked Marco. “Those? Oh, those are the masks of the dead.” “The dead?” She glanced back at him, disturbed. “Yes. It’s almost time for Carnival.” “Carni…?” “Carnival. The masked ball.” A masked ball? She grimaced reflexively. The phrase brought back bad memories. She thought of the shady Earl John Doe Ball, where couples had brazenly embraced and human beings had been bought and sold. What kind of moral fabric must this island have if people talked about a lawless event like that in broad daylight? Connie glanced around uncomfortably until Marco broke out laughing and explained that this was the “clean kind of ball.” Apparently, it wasn’t the sort of event she’d been imagining, but rather a traditional festival that people of all ages took part in. “They say it began as a celebration of the day each year when the spirits of the dead return to their families. Those masks symbolize the earthly realm and the realm of the dead. Hanging one outside your shop signals that you will welcome the dead. At the festival, everyone wears masks and costumes so that the spirits can join in. They say that in olden times the dead and the living used to dance the night away hand in hand.” “So that’s why they call it a masked ball…” “Of course, these days it’s mainly a tourist attraction that ends before midnight. But all sorts of stalls are set up, and at the very end, they hold the Muro di Luche.” “What’s that?” Connie asked. “The grand finale of the festival—a firecracker show. Firecrackers are wrapped around the railings of the Mezzaluna Pier and set off all at once. The name means ‘wall of light,’ but it’s really just a big explosion. Anyway, it’s the climax of the festival, so you won’t want to miss it.” An amiable smile spread over Marco’s face. How I’d love to go! Connie thought. When she glanced excitedly at Randolph, he nodded at her without cracking a smile. She couldn’t help giggling. She ignored the ghostly voice that said, “Ugh, that expression of his creeps me out!” The gondola glided slowly down the Canal Grande. “That mansion on our right covered in ivy is the old Latué residence. The owner, Lorenzo Latué, was the last sovereign of El Sol.” Marco apparently intended to serve not only as gondolier but also as tour guide. “Ah, the Latués,” Scarlett said, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Is something wrong?” Connie whispered to her. “I’m fairly certain Lorenzo’s son Tobias was the husband of Sylvia Latué.” “…Sylvia Latué?” The name was unfamiliar to Connie. “Ah, you know of her?” Marco asked, sounding impressed, before glancing meaningfully at his master, Antonio. “The young master isn’t very fond of history, so he’s probably never heard of her.” “I know th-that much. Sylvia Latué was the blind saint, wasn’t she?” “A saint?” Lucia asked. “We’ve got a saint in Adelbide, too.” “Ah yes, Saint Anastasia,” Marco answered. “I’ve heard she visited the battlefields to heal the wounded and hearten the soldiers. I think Sylvia Latué lived around the same time. But Sylvia was born with poor vision and couldn’t play an active public role. Instead, they say she donated to orphanages and supported the establishment of charity hospitals. Many mysteries remain about her personal life. People say her illness kept her away from others, and that even in her mansion she wore a black veil to hide her horrible birthmarks. And…” He paused. “…they say she may have been a refugee from abroad.” “A refugee?” “Yes. There were quite a few after Faris fell apart, I believe. She supposedly came from a lower noble family in the Republic, but no record of her birth remains.” Lucia clapped her hands together. “I know! It was love!” she exclaimed. “Love?” Marco echoed, confused. “Yes! Sylvia wasn’t a noble, I’m sure of it!” she announced, full of confidence. “Tobias must have forged her family register so he could be with the person he loved!” Suppressing a smile, Marco said, “You’re half right.” “Only half?” “You’re right that she wasn’t a noble. They say that Sylvia Latué was the last imperial princess of Faris.” The last imperial princess of Faris? “You don’t mean she was Cornelia Faris?!” Connie exclaimed in surprise. “There are various theories, but in short, yes. When the revolutionary army rebelled, Cornelia was studying in the Republic. She met Tobias Latué there, and they fell madly in love. In the end, she stayed there as an exile, but there is no record of her whereabouts after that.” Connie was dumbstruck. “That’s a true story,” Scarlett broke in casually. “My mother’s family name was Shibola, but in truth she descended from the Latués. The fact that Cornelia Faris was Sylvia Latué was never officially acknowledged, but everyone in Soldita knew it. Incidentally, the House of Fargo is collaterally descended from Cornelia.” “It is…?!” “Yes. If I remember correctly, Sylvia’s second son married into the family and took their last name. I suspect that also explains why Ulysses’s mother was welcomed into the Royal House of Faris.” Faris valued pure bloodlines. The royal family must have been trying to strengthen their own, even slightly. It was hard for an Adelbidian to understand. As Connie was frowning over this new puzzle, an old-looking white building came into view. “That’s the old Tharu Charitable Hospital,” Marco explained. “A new one was built several years back on Aidel Street, so the government bought the old building and turned it into a courthouse. Oh, and do you see that brick spire behind it? That’s the Central Clock Tower…” He explained that back when the charitable hospital was built, it was intended to have religious significance, and the large hospital grounds were dotted with spires of various sizes so that it resembled a foreign palace. “…Huh?” As Connie stared absently at the old hospital, she noticed something odd. A crowd was gathered near the front gate, where guards were stationed. Was it a tour group? How peculiar. Just then, she heard Antonio softly click his tongue. “Marco, stop the boat,” he ordered. She looked back at him. He was glaring at the courthouse as if he’d seen his sworn enemy. It wasn’t a very becoming expression for a young boy. “Are you in earnest, young master?” Marco asked elusively, without losing his light tone. “Stop dodging and pull the boat over now.” Marco glanced at the line of gondolas moored in front of the courthouse. When his gaze fell on one in particular, he scowled. “But look! That tasteless boat must belong to the rat. If we run into him, there’s sure to be trouble…” “Just stop the boat, man. The Bell of Judgment will be ringing soon.” Marco sighed quietly at his master’s stubborn attitude, then turned to Connie and the others. “I’m sorry, would you forgive us for dealing with a bit of business here? It shouldn’t take long.” Connie looked at Randolph, who nodded. Marco bowed his head in what seemed like relief and pulled the boat into a side canal. “What’s the matter?” Connie asked. “That worthless Carlo Vecchio has been picking fights again this year,” Antonio answered sullenly. “Carlo Vecchio?” “He’s a corrupt noble. He belongs to the Grand Council, as does my father, and blames him for the fact that he’s incompetent and can’t get ahead in the world. Every time we visit the island in summer, he harasses us by filing lawsuits.” “L-lawsuits?” Connie echoed, alarmed. “Ahh yes,” Scarlett said, nodding like she’d remembered something. “Soldita is famous as the land of lawsuits. This is not good, Constance. You have a bad habit of sticking your nose into things that are none of your business, so you’d better be careful not to get sued while we’re here.” I’d rather not hear that from the woman who causes all my problems, Connie thought. “Usually he names Basilio in his suits, but this time he’s suing the young master,” Marco explained. “The public trial is taking place in the courthouse today. The judgment should be issued soon…” “Come on, Marco, you’re talking like it’s no business of yours, but this time you’re involved, too!” Antonio retorted. “…What, now?” When Connie asked what he meant, they explained that, about ten days earlier, Antonio had been heading into town in the gondola when a gust of wind blew another gondola into his. Unsurprisingly, Carlo Vecchio was aboard the other boat. “Even though he was obviously the one steering recklessly, he claimed we hit his boat first. He’s suing for hospital fees, claiming he hurt his back and can’t walk.” “It sounds like he’s just picking a fight…” “He is. As you might guess, our young master doesn’t need to appear in court to defend himself in such a trifling case, so his father has sent a representative. But it seems Carlo has come in person.” “Incidentally,” Antonio said, “last year he tripped on a stone when he was passing our house and cracked the antique vase he was carrying. He sued us for compensation.” “Why would he be walking around with a vase…?” “How should I know? He just wanted to blame us for something,” the boy snapped. Marco smiled wryly. “They’d laugh him out of town on the mainland, but on the island, there’s not much by way of entertainment. It happens every year, to the point that it’s become a summer ritual.” Apparently that was why the crowd had gathered. Carlo’s claims were always dismissed, Marco said, and that was the end of it. What a farce, Connie thought, feeling very sympathetic for the Fargo family. The courthouse had its own pier with several ferries already docked there. Posts for tying up boats stood at even intervals at the edge of the canal, and Marco secured the gondola to one of these with confident motions. The group then stepped onto dry land. A large, boisterous crowd was gathered outside the courthouse. Some of the onlookers appeared to be tourists, but most were likely locals. They must have come to see the much-talked-about trial. But since they couldn’t go inside, they were reduced to waiting at the entrance. When Connie asked what they hoped to do there, Marco answered, “They’re waiting to hear the Bell of Judgment. Remember the clock tower behind the courthouse? There’s a large bell under the clock that’s rung a different number of times depending on the verdict. For example, in a regular case, it’s rung once if the plaintiff wins and twice if they lose. In a criminal suit, it’s rung once for a guilty verdict and twice for an innocent verdict. That’s why it’s called the Bell of Judgment—” At that very moment, a low sound vibrated in Connie’s ears. The bell seemed loud enough to shake the whole city. It rang once more. He said they ring it twice when the plaintiff loses, she thought, remembering what Marco had just told her. Marco smiled as if to say, “Told you so.” But a moment later— It rang for a third time. “What just happened…?” Connie asked, blinking. But the bell didn’t stop. It rang four, then five times, the low bass clang echoing across the island. “What does it mean…?” She looked at Marco, hoping for an answer. His face tensed. “This can’t be,” he muttered. Suddenly, the crowd erupted. “A duel!” “Trial by combat!” “Go get ’im!” people began to shout. Shocked by their ferocity, Lucia clung to Connie’s leg. As Connie blinked in confusion, Randolph squinted and lowered his voice. “…Trial by combat, eh? This is turning into quite a mess.” “Trial…by combat?” Connie echoed. She felt like she’d heard the term before but couldn’t quite remember. Next to her, Antonio was outright scowling. “That devil Carlo must’ve bribed the judge!” “Or maybe the judge has finally given up in the face of that bullheaded man’s foul temper. Well, the first thing we’d better do is tell your father,” Marco said, turning to walk back to the boat. But someone blocked his way. “Well, well, if it isn’t the honorable son of the House of Fargo.” The speaker smiled sarcastically at them. He had plastered-back ivory hair and looked high strung. Although the man himself was scrawny, several burly bodyguards stood behind him. He carried an ostentatious staff ornamented with gold and jewels, which appeared to be more for show than actual support. “Since you sent a representative, I thought you’d be too spineless to show up.” “…Carlo Vecchio,” Antonio spat out with deep revulsion. Carlo didn’t seem to hear him. “You heard the Bell of Judgment, I assume? Even a stupid boy like you must know what it means.” “Young master, do not engage with him,” Marco warned. “So the help bosses the master around in your family?” Carlo sneered. “Savage stock really is different, I suppose. And now you’re going to run off again like a scared puppy? You’re a coward just like your father, Basilio, injuring people and then shirking responsibility.” The atmosphere was tense, but something else was bothering Connie. She pressed her temples as she tried to put her finger on what it was. “Connie?” Scarlett asked. “I feel like I’ve heard the term ‘trial by combat’ before…” As she spoke, it came to her. She pulled the old book from her purse and began flipping the pages. “Here it is!” She scanned the text. It described in detail a trial of the olden days. Back then, the courthouse was at a temple rather than in the old hospital. But other than that, not much seemed different. Then, too, verdicts were announced to the islanders by ringing the bell below the clock tower. One toll meant guilty, and two, innocent. When the bell didn’t stop ringing, it meant the verdict was neither innocent nor guilty, but rather that the trial would be decided by combat. Trial by combat meant a duel between the plaintiff and the defendant. The outcome determined whether the accused was innocent or guilty. Various conditions could be specified, but the method was simple: a fight to the death with weapons. When Connie reached that line, she screamed. “Wait, they’re going to kill each other?” “Calm down, Constance,” Randolph said. “There hasn’t been a real duel with weapons in a long time. The battle these days is verbal, I believe.” “Verbal?” “It’s a debate.” According to Randolph, present-day trials by combat typically took place in public, and the judge decided the verdict based on the reaction of the spectators. “Obviously they don’t use it for criminal cases, or when the sum being sought is more than a thousand gil. In other words, it’s for petty cases that never should have been brought to court in the first place.” “I feel like Antonio will be at a bit of a disadvantage…” Connie had only just met him, but from what she could tell, the boy said whatever came to mind. She frowned. No doubt he’d dig his own grave and let Carlo talk him straight into it. “Not likely,” Randolph said. “He may be a party to the case, but he’s still a child. They’ll almost certainly put the trial off and send a representative in his place.” “I wonder,” Scarlett said, smiling nastily as she tilted her head. But just as Connie was worrying about Scarlett’s loaded tone, she heard yelling nearby. “What did you say?!” someone was shouting. She looked in the direction of the voice. A red-faced Antonio Fargo was lunging at Carlo Vecchio. “Fine! If you’re going to take it that far, then call the judge! I, Antonio Fargo, will take you on myself!” “See?” Scarlett said with a shrug. To Antonio’s side, Marco stood with his face in his hands and his shoulders slumped. The judge, who had white hair, a white beard, and pure white robes, was sitting at a wooden desk with his chin in his hand, looking profoundly annoyed. The court clerk had just carried the desk in from a warehouse. A gavel had been tossed carelessly onto it. A far larger crowd than earlier had gathered outside the courthouse. Trial by combat customarily took place outside, and the islanders had flocked to the spectacle. Courthouse staff bustled around getting everything ready. “How am I ever going to make this up to the master…?” Marco moaned. “Stop talking like I’ve already lost!” shouted Antonio. The drooping Marco seemed to have given up all hope. Randolph was helping the courthouse staff while Connie looked around curiously. Furniture set on the ground roughly divided the area into a plaintiff’s table, a defendant’s table, and a judge’s bench. The men Connie had earlier assumed to be bodyguards were seated at the plaintiff’s table, but Carlo Vecchio himself was nowhere to be seen. As she was wondering where he could have gone, someone shoved her roughly aside, grunting, “You’re in the way!” It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel good, either. She looked up sullenly to find Carlo Vecchio squinting churlishly at her. “What are you, one of the Fargos’ maids? The more I look at you, the plainer you get.” “…Excuse me?” He’d clearly mistaken her for a servant. She wasn’t wearing a uniform, but neither was Marco, so maybe he figured she was trying to blend in with the crowd. Plus, her dress was simple and easy to move in. The fabric was of good quality, but the design was no different from what a commoner would wear. Anyway, she knew better than anyone that her face was plain or worse than plain, so she didn’t argue with him. “You’re perfectly suited to that ugly boy. Poor wretch didn’t inherit the one thing his father was ever praised for—his looks.” Connie gaped at the man’s extreme rudeness. Then, realizing Antonio might have overheard, she glanced fearfully in his direction. She prayed he hadn’t been listening to their conversation. But no, he seemed to have heard every word and was now biting his lip as he stared glumly at the ground. Without thinking, Connie rested her hand on his head. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth fell open. Just then, Lucia came prancing over to them. She positioned herself in front of the surprised Connie and pointed her finger accusingly at Carlo. “I feel much sorrier for you than for him!” she declared. “Before you talk about people, you ought to take a look in the mirror! You’re hideous, sir!” At first, Carlo looked shocked, but as the meaning of her words sank in, he exploded into a rage. “Shut your mouth, little girl!” he shouted, raising his staff. “Stop!” Connie screamed. Lucia’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she shrank back and curled up to protect herself. The staff cut through empty air and slammed against the ground. “What’s going on?” Randolph shouted, squinting harshly as he strode toward them. Carlo clicked his tongue and returned to the plaintiff’s table and his bodyguards. “Lucia!” Connie cried, running to the girl. “I’m fine,” she said, grinning as she lay on the ground. Connie was relieved to see her unharmed, but anger quickly surged in her chest. She glared as hard as she could at Carlo and took a deep breath. She knew she wouldn’t feel better until she gave him a piece of her mind. Just then, Scarlett called to her from behind. When Connie turned around, Scarlett narrowed her amethyst eyes and rested her chin wearily in her hand. “I believe that man needs to be taught a lesson,” she announced. Connie agreed wholeheartedly. She was about to nod when she remembered that her rather frightening fiancé was standing next to her. When she looked at him, his eyebrows flinched with realization. “Wait, Constance, don’t do anything rash—” Whispering a silent apology to him, she turned back to Scarlett and nodded. Scarlett smiled with satisfaction. As Connie returned to the defendant’s table, where Antonio and the others were waiting, the judge banged his gavel to begin the trial. The hard knock was followed by a command for both parties to step forward. Antonio started to stand up, but Connie held him back with an upraised hand. She squeezed her fists and shut her eyes tight. Then, slowly, she opened them again…and let a smile blossom over her mouth. “I will serve in your place.” Suddenly, the wind changed. Lucia blinked a few times and murmured, “…Miss Connie?” Seeing her freeze up, Uly asked worriedly, “Lucia, what’s wrong? Does something hurt?” He was probably asking about Carlo Vecchio’s attack. Fortunately, the ground she had flung herself onto had been soft, and she was unharmed. Lucia smiled brightly. “I’m fine. The kind man checked to make sure I wasn’t hurt,” she told him, glancing at Marco, who was watching them silently. Randolph was glaring at the girl standing in the makeshift court with a terribly stern look on his face. Lucia followed his gaze. Hazelnut hair and pale green eyes. Standing there so boldly, ignoring the commotion of the spectators, was the same girl Lucia loved like a big sister. But right now, a beautiful, fierce girl with wavy black hair was layered over Miss Connie—another person whom Lucia loved and respected like an elder sister. “Didn’t you hear me? Or maybe it amuses you to abuse underage boys? Ah yes, I do believe I’ve heard a rumor to that effect. How terrifying.” The girl made an exaggerated shivering motion. There was no way a foreigner who had just set foot on the island could have heard a rumor like that, but of course, no one here knew that. Maybe that was why the crowd shrank back at her confident words. She could hear them whispering. “He likes little boys!” “The pervert!” “So that’s the kind of man he is…” “What?! Ridiculous! No such rumor exists!” “Perhaps you simply haven’t heard it. In that case, I’d be happy to share it with you right now, in great detail.” “But I told you—Oh, never mind, just represent the boy if that’s what you want!” This must be what people call “bluffing,” Lucia thought. Abby had told her that was how you made someone fight on your terms. Apparently, it was a skill all ladies possessed. From there, if you could drive your opponent into a corner and vanquish them, you might finally be accepted as a full-fledged lady. Rudy, who was like her big brother, said she didn’t need to aim quite so high, but Lucia’s dream was to become a magnificent lady. Although it wasn’t going very well so far. Suddenly, she heard a deep sigh above her head. She looked up to find Randolph Ulster, another big brother to her, pressing his fingers between his eyes like he was holding back a headache. Meanwhile, Constance—no, Scarlett Castiel—had received permission from the judge to officially serve as Antonio’s representative. She was now consulting with the boy, who seemed unable to process what was happening. “And all he’s asking for is the medical fees?” Scarlett asked. “Hmm? Oh, yes, only the medical fees.” “What about the cost of repairing his boat?” “Repairs? No, it was just a graze…” The right gunwale of the Fargo gondola had also been lightly scratched, he said, but they hadn’t bothered to fix it. “Which means Carlo didn’t send his boat to be repaired, either, yes?” “I don’t think so. There’s a lot of boat accidents around festival time, and the shipwrights can’t handle all the work. If you sent your boat in, you wouldn’t get it back for a month. Also, I just saw the Vecchio gondola at the pier.” “Are you sure it was the same boat that was in the accident? Don’t noble families have more than one boat?” “The figurehead on the bow is a little bent, so I’m sure it’s the same one.” Scarlett narrowed her green eyes and smiled with satisfaction. “I see,” she said. Then she met the judge’s gaze and asked loudly, “May I make a statement?” The judge raised his eyebrow slightly before saying, “Go ahead.” “If we are not at fault, then I would like to request a sincere apology from the plaintiff. Is that all right?” “An apology?” “Yes. My client has been deeply hurt. If an apology is not possible, we will, of course, give up for the time being. Although, in exchange, we will no doubt be seeing the plaintiff again in court quite soon.” The middle-aged judge must have been very tired of these cases, because without hesitation, he nodded and said, “Request accepted. Carlo Vecchio, do you agree?” “…Of course, your honor.” Though Carlo looked irritated, he agreed without argument. He probably wanted to make a good impression on the judge. To hide his dissatisfaction, he brought his fist to his mouth and coughed. The bodyguard beside him hurriedly pulled some papers from a satchel and held them up. “Take a good look at this,” Carlo said. “It’s the doctor’s diagnosis. He says it will take me a month to recover fully. I can’t walk without a staff, and when I recall the terror I felt during the accident, I can’t even sleep at night. How do you intend to compensate me?” He was speaking rapidly and pounding his staff on the ground. His opponent blinked at him. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but did you really hurt yourself in a boat? Not by tripping over a rock and falling down?” She was obviously ridiculing the court case from the previous year. The onlookers knew this, of course, and mocking laughter rippled through the crowd. Carlo answered in a rage, “You people are the ones who hit me with your boat!” “Talk is cheap. What’s your proof?” Carlo smiled cunningly, as if he had been waiting for this very question. “I have a witness to the accident. If you refuse to admit your guilt, I will call them to testify.” “He probably paid them off,” Marco muttered. “Well, do you admit defeat?” Carlo pressed. Just then, Lucia noticed Scarlett’s smile, like a hawk eyeing its prey. “Would you mind showing us your gondola?” “…What?” “Our boat was scratched in the accident. Obviously, if you didn’t hit us, then the scratch won’t match up with the bow of your boat, correct?” “A s-scratch…?” Carlo’s face twitched. Scarlett delivered her follow-up blow in the same light tone. “Oh, I forgot, your back is injured. By all means, then, wait here. I’ll just run over to the pier and inspect the boat.” “W-wait!” Carlo chased frantically after Scarlett as she turned on her heels and strode away. That’s right—he chased after her. As his staff clattered to the ground, she stopped. Then, with a terrifyingly elegant motion, she slowly tilted her head. “Dear me, you certainly seem fit as a fiddle.” As realization of his mistake spread over Carlo’s face, Scarlett walked toward him and stepped hard on the staff. Lucia wasn’t sure if it was intentional or a coincidence, but her toes were positioned directly on top of the expensive-looking inlaid jewels. “You didn’t by chance falsify your diagnosis, did you? Oh, but this is very serious. Perjury is a criminal offense.” The teenage girl’s harmless, ordinary-looking face bore an awfully sadistic smile. Carlo shivered, evidently terrified by her twisted expression. Just then, the judge’s wooden gavel banged down. “That is quite enough,” he said, cutting off Scarlett’s attack. “Carlo Vecchio, your claims appear to be inconsistent. If the inconsistency was intentional, we have a problem. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” “…N-no. My understanding of the incident appears to have been mistaken.” “Do you drop your claims?” “……Yes.” “Then apologize to the defendant.” Carlo scowled in irritation. “…Hmph. I suppose there was a small misunderstanding on my part. I’ll agree to forgive you for your past rudeness, so you’d do well to forget about this little incident as well.” The crowd jeered at his obvious lack of shame. But Carlo ignored them. “I’ve made my apology! You people are satisfied, are you not?” he asked instead. He looked toward the defendant’s table, where Lucia and the others sat. The teenage girl standing there grinned and, after a pause, gave her answer. “Are you an idiot?” Every spectator gasped. “What…?” “Can’t you hear? I told you to apologize. What part of your attitude right now is apologetic? If you think you’ll get away with this, then you’re one arrogant piece of work. Fixing that level of stupidity in one lifetime is going to be difficult, so I suggest you start over and try again in your next life.” The makeshift court fell silent. The onlookers were frozen as Carlo gaped. Marco and Antonio were staring in shock at this girl who had looked so plain and ordinary to them. Ulysses was watching with a puzzled expression, and Randolph was once again pressing his fingers to his forehead. “Or don’t you know how to apologize? I’ve heard that, in the Far East, people sometimes apologize by cutting off their pinkie. But you’d still have nine fingers left, so what’s the value in that? Let’s see, what would be a better symbol of remorse? An ear? An eye? You only have one nose, so I’ll let you keep that.” A muffled scream rose from Carlo’s throat. “Oh, I’m only joking. What good would any of those things do me? Ah, I know. Let’s burn your gondola! After all, that’s what started all this trouble,” she said with a smile. Carlo shuddered. “Y-you said all I had to do was apologize.” “That’s right. I’m a deeply merciful woman, and I will forgive you if you apologize.” Without taking her eyes off Carlo, she called on the court clerk. The man transcribing the proceedings flinched in surprise.
Chapter 61
31 min read